


Bend and Break

by Kasuchi



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-10-19
Updated: 2005-10-19
Packaged: 2017-12-27 18:22:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 4,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/982136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kasuchi/pseuds/Kasuchi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"If only I don't bend and and break / I'll meet you on the other side / I'll meet you in the light..." Set during HBP, Ron and Hermione circle one another.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a sequel to [Subtext](http://archiveofourown.org/works/982129). I urge you to read that first.

"Oh," the Fat Lady breathed. Before her stood Ron and Hermione, identical looks of surprise on their faces.

"Perhaps I'll just...step out for a moment," she said quietly, rising. In a blink of an eye, she was down the hall.

They were effectively trapped.

Neither of them made a motion to speak, to move, to escape. Subtly, they shifted away from one another. The hallway was silent, devoid of anyone else.

It was Hermione who broke first. "I thought you were with _Lavender_ ," she spat, the venom in her voice making him wince.

"She's with Parvati; they're working together on something," he replied quietly. He deliberately avoided her gaze.

There was another long silence, and some part of Hermione ached. When did just being near him hurt so much? When had the silences become the most painful part?

"I don't get it," he blurted suddenly, a drop of anger in his voice. "What do you have against her, anyway?"

She took a step back and glared. "You can't honestly be that thick!"

He snapped. "I'm not, but sometimes I wish I was. At least then, you'd be direct with me."

"I was never anything less than clear with you!"

"How was I supposed to take your 'hints,' then? I'm the one with the emotional range of a teaspoon, right?" He glared at her coldly.

She flinched. "You're taking that out of context."

"Still hurts," he bit back.

They were quiet again for a stretch of time. He felt the red heat of anger creeping into his vision and tried to shake it off. It wouldn't do for him to lose it, not with her.

"Why her?" She wasnt looking at him, opting to glare at the carpet instead.

"Why does it matter? Why aren't you happy for me?" He tossed back.

"Because she isn't--" She pressed her lips together. _She doesn't want to finish that sentence._ Funny how he could still read her.

"Because she isn't what, Hermione? A brunette?" He took a step closer to her. "Smart?" One more. "Funny? Charming? What does she lack, Hermione?"

"I don't have to tell you!"

"Then you don't have the right to be jealous or angry or whatever it is you are!"

"I don't?" She reeled, shocked.

"Do you know why? You're my _friend_ , nothing more. You have no right to be anything other than supportive. That's what a friend does." He made a decisive gesture with his hand, and he was struck by how similar this was to a daydream he'd had once.

"Friends don't kiss friends and then never mention it again."

They both froze. Hermione felt her chest contract, and it was hard to breathe. She was playing dirty, and she knew it.

Then again, two could play at that game. "Friends don't kiss Bulgarian quidditch players and don't tell other friends!"

She clenched her teeth. "You kissed me in the Department of Mysteries! You said you had to do it. Why, Ron? Why was it so important that you do that there and then?"

"Why did you kiss him?"

Something clicked. " _That's_ what all this is about? Me kissing Krum two years ago?"

"Don't oversimplify." He replied coldly, colder than she'd ever seen him.

"Then tell me what this is about, Ron! Because I for one sure as hell don't know."

"You wouldn't understand."

"What wouldn't I understand? They were just kisses! Do you want to know why? Because he made me feel special! Like I was beautiful and desireable, something I had never felt before. Not with you forgetting I was female!"

"Hermione--"

"What is this about, Ron? Why did you nearly hex Ginny when she told you? Why are you doing this?" She made a sweeping gesture with her arm.

"Dammit, Hermione, don't you get it? _I_ was supposed to be your first! Not him -- ME." He laid his palm flat, fingers splayed, on his chest to punctuate the last word.

For another long moment, the only sound was their breathing. Quietly, Ron leaned his back against the wall and tilted his head up.

"Do you really think I forgot you were a girl?" He laughed humorlessly. "God, Hermione, I've been all-too aware of that fact since we were in third year.

"Why am I doing this? The same reason you did it to me. I was tired, Hermione. Tired of teaspoons and jealousy and avoiding _this_ \--" he gestured at the space between them, "and tired of waiting."

"If you had waited until Christmas--"

"If I had waited, what would have happened? Maybe a moment under the mistletoe? Maybe something would have happened? Don't kid yourself, Hermione. We are who we are; you and I both know that wouldn't have happened."

"Ron..."

"Maybe I did this to be vindictive. It's not so much fun on the outside, is it?" He shot her a sidelong glare, blue eyes icy in the light.

A spark of anger flared in her and she opened her mouth to retort when Ron pushed off the wall and made to walk away.

"I'll see you 'round, Hermione." Without another word, he walked off.

Once upon a time, he had used to say, "I'll see you later, Hermione," in a voice that had made her shiver. The way the syllables of her name had rolled off his tongue had sent goosebumps up and down her arms. It was the drop of warmth in his voice that had made everything else seem so cold.

Now, she shivered from the ice in his voice and his eyes.

"I bet Violet, once, a while back, that you two would be a couple soon." The Fat Lady quietly mused. "I suppose I owe her that bottle of champagne now."

Hermione quietly turned to the painting.

"Password?"

She shook her head. "I'm changing it."

"To what, dearie?"

She paused. "Goosebumps."

"Done." And the portrait hole swung open.


	2. Bend and Break

It was easier to just ignore him.

It was easier to pretend he didn't exist. That his presence wasn't setting off that annoying sixth sense in the back of her head. She hated, now, how she always innately knew where he was. She scanned a room and was all-too-aware of his presence. She could never allow him to blend into the background; he stood out, vibrant, in her eyes.

She hated how her ears were tuned to his voice, and she could pick it out in a crowd. She spent less and less time in the common room. It was easier to ignore him when she couldn't see him, couldn't feel him on the edge of her senses -- the corner of her eye, the faint scent of _him_ , the whispers of his voice, the ghosts of hands on her shoulders, on her arms, on her face--

She hated how parts of the library, her favorite parts, had ghosts of memories that haunted her. If she let her mind wander, she could feel his lips against her ear, whispering -- a joke, a word, a something -- an action that left her breathless.

It was easier to lock it all away. It was easier to ignore him. It was easier to pretend he meant nothing to her, he was nothing special, he added up to the sum of his parts and was neither lacking nor in excess. It was easier to pretend he was just another guy.

It was easier to ignore the hurt and the pain. She figured that it, like any good problem, would fade with time. But it ate at her and left her aching, needing a companionship she had once taken for granted and abused out of fear. Suddenly, the world was colder.

It was easier to ignore the way her chest contracted when she saw him. It was easier to ignore the way her stomach bottomed out when he walked past her. It was easier to ignore the fist around her heart when she saw him with Her.

It was harder to stem the tears when he looked through her.


	3. Bend and Break

It was entirely too easy for him to ignore her. Too easy for him to brush past her without a care, to look at her without seeing her.

They didn't speak, ever. They would stand not three feet from one another and remain silent as stone. Neither of them wanted to be the first to break, to undo the bindings on their emotions and unchain their beasts. The livewire of tension that had crackled around them before was gone, replaced by an icy coldness that left others in their presence frostbitten.

It was entirely too easy to lose himself in the new girl, to forget everything that was real and dive into a falsehood that comforted him. Legs and hands tangled so tight he couldn't tell which ones were his. The hedonistic rush kissing her gave him. So what if she wasn't _everything_ he wanted in a girlfriend? That didn't matter.

A hollow place he couldn't quite find ached, exposing the lie for what it was.

On quiet days, he sat in the common room in his favorite chair by the fire, stretched out to the limit. His feet would bump into the small table there and that hollow place would ache more pronouncedly than before. Once, he had quietly set out the chessboard, placing his pieces in their appropriate spots. His pieces, the white, turned to him when they didn't see their favorite opponents.

Something in him snapped and he banged the edge of the board, sending the pieces flying. He swore and cleaned up the pieces, a little whisper in his ear chiding him for his vulgarity.

He found the king and queen pieces embracing on the floor and that part of him that had snapped, that had been unable to take the lies, cried bitter tears. His own face was stony as he separated them and placed them in the box, crushed velvet forcing them apart.

It was entirely too easy to write her off as another girl, just another girl. It was even easier to appreciate her now that the veil of friendship was gone: soft, dark curls framing a heart-shaped face and bright eyes. Full, round breasts that tapered into a natural waist that swelled into the twin curves of her hips. Legs that were long for her height, that went on forever.

He remembered late nights in the common room, bent over a low table, where he had stolen glances at her. A skirt that rode up revealing inches of lighter skin, skin that didn't normally see light--

Lips, full and red from her biting on them, perfectly, kissably swollen.

He wanted her. He wanted to run his hand up her thigh, to feel every inch of her--waist, hips, stomach, breasts, arms, neck, hair, face--all of her. He wanted to hear her laugh at his sarcastic comments, to explain concepts to him, to vow she would beat him at his own game--

It was entirely too hard to pretend he didn't miss her.


	4. Bend and Break

He blinked blearily against the sunlight pouring in through the window. His eyes stung and felt sluggish, like they hadn't opened in days. Come to think of it, his whole body felt that way, burdened and listless.

He peered at the ceiling through his eyelashes, letting the light make strange, blurred patterns. He inhaled deeply and sighed a slow, hissing breath.

He opened his eyes fully and blinked once-twice-thrice more. White ceiling. Windows. That smell of _clean_. He was in the hospital ward.

He really needed to stop ending up here.

He sighed deeply again and turned to the side, more to get some water than to see who was there.

It was her.

She tensed and he couldn't suppress his bitterness, injury or no. "I didn't think you'd come."

She clenched her fists in her skirt. "Ron--"

"Don't. Just...just don't." He looked straight up at the ceiling.

The clock echoed in the silent ward, each tick a heavy thud. So close they could touch--! He felt his heart ache to close the gap, to feel her warmth once more; it was cold here.

"We can't keep doing this."

He looked at her, expression unreadable, for a long, hard moment.

She pressed on. "We can't keep pretending like...like the last five years didn't happen. Like we're not who we are and what we were."

Gingerly, he propped himself on his hands and sat up, wincing a little. "I know. It's just..."

"This is so much easier."

"Yeah. It's so much easier to just...pretend we're not us. And there's always been an us."

"But it's so much harder at the same time. Ron, I--" _I need you_. She bit her lip and looked away.

Then, he did something unexpected: he hugged her. She froze for a second, shocked, and then she hugged him back, gently. Quietly, she moved to the bed, sitting on the edge and facing him.

"Hermione, I..." His mouth was at her ear, and she broke out in goosebumps. "Are we okay?"

She closed her eyes and rested her forehead on his shoulder. "No," she replied quietly. "But we're getting there."

"It's better than nothing." He rested his chin on her head.

She laughed quietly. "Anything's better than the past few months."

The door to the Hospital wing opened quietly, and Harry walked in.

"Am I interrupting something?" He half-smiled.

Ron and Hermione looked over at him, then at each other. "We're healing," she replied, smiling softly at Harry.

"Well, this _is_ the hospital wing." He walked over to them and sat on the other side of Hermione, loosely wrapping an arm around her waist.

"You're sharp, mate." Ron smirked at him over her head.

"Shut it, you. Does the name 'Romilda Vane' mean nothing?"

"You wouldn't!"

"I would." It was his turn to smirk.

She chuckled quietly, and soon all three of them were laughing.

From around the corner, Madame Pompfrey smiled.


	5. Bend and Break

Some part of her felt guilty.

(A small part, mind, but some part of her did nonetheless.)

She could hear Lavender yelling at him through the walls, even up here in the dormitory.

_"Ron? What were you doing up there with Hermione?"_

_Ron had blanched, looking back at her. Dimly, she noted that his freckles stood out sharply when his skin turned that pallor. Otherwise, she betrayed nothing; an ultimate poker face._

_This was his fight, not hers._

The wait was killing her. After Lavender dumped him, how long should she wait before she made her move? Hermione paced across the dorm room, skirt swishing about her knees. There was a rule for this, wasn't there? Something like three months or when she has another beau.

 _I can't wait that long!_ She paused. _Will I really have to wait all that long?_ She shook her head; now was not the time to be cynical.

The yelling ceased sharply. Lavender had been shouting near non-stop for a good half-hour, her voice growing screechier all throughout. For the yelling to stop suddenly...something must have happened. Did Ron...?

 _No,_ she thought. He'd been complaining about Lavender since the hospital, even asking her how to dump the girl. Even he wasn't so stupid as to stick with a girl that was being as annoying as she was. Was he?

She collapsed on the bed and sighed heavily. She could hear rapid footsteps on the stairs. Someone was coming up.

The door to the dormitory burst open, revealing a very upset Lavender and an unsure Parvati. Lavender was sobbing, the sound muffled by the pillow she clutched to her face. Parvati, looking as though she felt useless, sat beside her, rubbing her back and murmuring soothingly.

"It's all... _her_ fault!" Lavender looked up from the pillow and noticed Hermione, sitting expressionless on her bedspread. "You! I blame you! If it wasn't for you, Ron and I would still be...still be...!" She threw the pillow aside and sat up completely, managing to look formidable despite the bloodshot, puffy eyes. Parvati stepped back, realizing this was a necessary outcome for both of them.

"We didn't do anything!" She protested, but her defense was half-hearted at best.

"Yeah, right. Do you think I'm stupid or something? I saw the way you looked at him. You wanted him from the second I had him you bitch!" The gauntlet was thrown.

"I didn't do anything! And if I wanted him, I wouldn't have had to _try_ to steal him away, anyway." Challenge accepted.

Lavender glared daggers at her. "That's a lie!" But her arms tightened around a pillow, nails digging into the case.

"Come off it, _Lav-Lav_ ," she rolled her eyes, sliding closer to the edge of the bed. "Everyone could see that he'd have broken up with you sooner or later."

Lavender's lower lip quivered. "I guess I wasn't any match for _you_ ," she spat.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"I saw the way you looked at him when you guys weren't speaking...but I also saw the way he looked at you." She drew the curtain shut sharply, casting an Imperturable Charm and a Silencing Charm in quick succession, and leaving Parvati and Hermione alone.

"Parvati, you know we didn't do anything, right?" She looked beseechingly at the Indian girl.

She hesitated. "Harry's probably still upstairs or something, yeah. And Lavender's really upset right now, so you should take what she said with a grain of salt...But, Hermione?"

"Yeah?"

"Just because nothing happened...doesn't mean you didn't wish it had."

The candles flickered suddenly, signaling an hour until curfew. Quietly, Hermione stood and walked to the door, past Parvati.

"You're going down there, to him, aren't you?" She paused, hand on the doorknob, at Parvati's quiet words. "I won't stop you, but...don't do anything stupid." Hermione met her gaze and nodded once, sharply.

She could see him as she descended the stairs. His form sat on the floor by the sofa, knees bent into twin mountain peaks. The room was bright yet, students milling about the fringes. Most of them seemed to be avoiding him.

She sank down next to him. "Hey." It was simple and neutral.

His eyes flicked to her before returning to rest on the fireplace. "Hey back." There was a pause. "I guess this is where you say, 'I told you so'?"

She smiled a small smile. "I could, but I won't."

There was another silence between them.

"So." He started, turning to face her at last. "I guess I'm a free man now."

"And?"

"And you're a free woman."

She blinked at him innocently. "What's a pair like us to do?"


	6. Bend and Break

You are seventeen and three months when he dies.

It isn't fair, you decide, biting your lip to keep from crying. It isn't fair that he had to die, that Snape turned on them. It isn't fair that today, of all days, is when his funeral is to be held.

There's a bandage on your shoulder. A long cut runs along your clavicle. You know it'll scar, despite Madame Pompfrey's best efforts. Another mark to add to your collection, you think cynically. Just another line on your body.

(Some part of you is startled; such black cynicism isn't your style. You stifle that part; today is not a normal day. Really, this week's pretty much shot to hell, isn't it? )

When you were younger, you expected to collect wizarding trading cards or gobstones, like normal children. Hmph. As if anything's ever been normal; you ended up collecting scars. A few on your legs from running through a briar patch. Scabby knees, as boys are wont to have. There's one set on your calf from where Sirius bit you in third year, but you forgave him for that.

There's one in your hair that you've never really seen, only felt in the shower. It's the one the queen gave you when she took you out of play in first year. You remember Hermione shaking and shaking and shaking you, shouting for you to wake up. There was desperation in her voice, and a note of something that made you scared.

There are more than enough on your arms, from the brain at the end of fifth year.

And now, one more, on your shoulder. It's actually quite depressing, you decide. At seventeen and three months you have more scars than half your brothers combined. Bill and Charlie, you guess, each have about the same number as you at this point. It's a little scary; they're living dangerous lives. You're just friends with some bloke with a scar on his face and a girl with big hair.

Funny how life works out, isn't it?

You snap out of your reverie when you feel her shift beside you. Her dark hair is everywhere, but even it seems more subdued, as if in deference to the mourning all around. She looks up at you with big, glassy eyes and you feel that impassive coldness melt from around your heart, the coldness bred from anger and spite. You open your arms and gather her small frame to yours. Almost instantly, she is crying into you, and you are reminded, strangely, of third year. It's not the same situation by a long shot, but she is there and you are here and it's the same but different.

And as the wetness seeps in through the thin material of your shirt, you bow your head and feel the tears fall. Your shoulders shake and you instinctively hold her tighter.

Seventeen and three months. You're supposed to be a man now.

The cynic in you scoffs at the irony.


	7. Bend and Break

"Would you care to dance?"

She looked up at him, a little startled, before her expression shifted into a smile. "Of course." She took his hand and rose, careful not to step on the trim of her dress robes. They were neither periwinkle nor floaty; they were simple and pretty and a deep, cornflower blue. Nor were his lace-cuffed and maroon. His were a deep navy, and she distantly noted that they brought out his eyes.

He led them out onto the dancefloor. He found himself smiling a little fondly at his brother, the groom. He and Fleur, the (literally) blushing bride, shared an intimate moment on the dancefloor, gently swaying to the music, foreheads touching. For a moment, he felt a distinct rush of _something_ , but it faded and he turned his attention to his partner.

She, though, was staring at the newlywed couple wistfully. Silently, she wondered if she would ever be lucky enough to have that. A light pressure on the small of her back made her realize where and who she was with. And it was enough.

The area around them cleared and he twirled her, the skirt of her dress robes, full and free, swirling around her. They came back together without missing a step, and they shared a smile.

As they turned, they spotted Ginny and Harry together. They held each other close, cherishing what little time they had left.

"We leave tomorrow morning," she said, quietly.

"At dawn," he added. His blue eyes darkened with a flash, and for a moment, she saw the man he would - had - become.

She gripped his shoulder a little tighter. "I'm scared."

He leaned down to murmur in her ear. "So'm I." Their eyes locked for a moment and they saw themselves reflected in the other.

The moment broke as the song ended and a faster song replaced the slower one before. Suddenly, she wanted out. Grasping Ron's hand, she pulled him out of the crowd. They didn't stop until they were clear of the yard and the music. At the tip of a rise they collapsed, her skirt fanning out around her.

"I couldn't have lasted another moment. I'm sorry."

"It's okay. If you hadn't, I would have."

A comfortable silence stretched out between them. Both of them looked into the setting sun. Come morning, they would be gone. Seventeen and alone, save for each other.

She turned to him and found him gazing at her intently. His skin looked bronze and his hair shone like fire and she was enchanted.

She glowed gold, and her hair highlighted itself. The play of light on the planes of her face made her both familiar and mysterious. He rose to his knees, and raised a shaking hand to her cheek. Tucking a stray curl behind her ear, he let his hand wander over the familiar contours of her face. His thumb traced over her cheekbone, his fingers traced the line of her jaw. She felt her skin tingle under his touch, and every nerve stood on end in anticipation.

Her chin he gently grasped between his thumb and forefinger. Leaning forward, he murmured into her ear, "I'm scared."

Their eyes met, hazel and blue. Earth and sky. "So am I." Quietly, she closed the distance between them.

For a few precious eternities, they were happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all your patience in dealing with me and my horrendous updating schedule. Hell, there was no schedule. Thank you for putting up with me. Thank you for beta-ing, reading, and loving. You guys have been amazing. Where would I be without you? Seriously, y'all have been amazing, and I sincerely hope that this has been as incredible a journey for you as it has for me.


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